


Nightmares

by CanonCannon



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Drugged Daryl, Eventual Smut, First Kiss, First Time, Flirty Paul Rovia, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Pre-Slash, Protective Rick Grimes, Rape Recovery, Sickfic, not sudden magical recovery, or rather progress towards rape recovery, terrible attempts at humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-31 05:36:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8566021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanonCannon/pseuds/CanonCannon
Summary: Daryl flinched violently, breath speeding up. “Shane?” he asked, out of the blue, sounding small and lost. He was slurring a little, but the name had been crystal clear.--FYI for readers: the rape/non-con takes place in the past but it is discussed in the present. Few graphic details are mentioned, but it certainly could still be upsetting. Mind the tags and take care of yourselves.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> See endnotes for details on the Rape/Non-Con tag.

Rick had had this dream before. _He led a glaring Lori out of Alexandria through a horde of walkers, both of them covered in guts. Even in the dream she’s angry at him, glaring as she tries to free her hand from his grasp. He holds on desperately, angry as well but knowing something terrible will happen if he lets go. But she keeps fighting him, eventually hitting with her free hand and shouting shrilly at him. He remembers some of the phrases from before the world ended, and some of them from after he killed Shane._

 _Finally, angry and hurt, he lets her go. In that same instant she becomes a walker, her arm dangling grotesquely from one elbow. He notices for the first time her pregnant belly as he pulls out his gun. He finds he can’t even point it at her, let alone shoot her. An intense sense of grief for Lori and Judith permeates the dream. Lori lurches towards him, teeth bared, skin already rotting from her cheek and forehead, and he still can’t bring himself to kill her. Suddenly Carl is there, aiming for his mother. Rick wants to stop him, but Carl doesn’t hesitate, and the gun goes off with a_ BANG.

Rick startled awake, then startled again when he found himself laying on something soft. Right, Alexandria _._ Lori had never been here, and Judith was fine. He had an irrational urge to check on her, but Carl had taken her to play at Aaron and Eric’s place.

Rick had fallen asleep on the couch. Still couldn’t quite think the words ‘my couch,’ because the idea of owning things like couches and microwaves and two-story houses seemed absurd in this new world. For so long he owned only weapons, the clothes on his back, and whatever supplies and food he’d managed to scavenge. He knew some of the others had at least held onto a sentimental trinket or two from the past. Carl still had his hat, plus that photograph of Lori.

Glenn had had Hershel’s old watch; Maggie had it now.

Nausea and grief rose in equal measure. Rick stood up quickly, searching for something to distract him. Daryl had been working on his bike out front when he’d laid on the couch to read, both of them trying to take a well-deserved break now that the fighting was over. He’d ask if Daryl wanted a drink, if he needed a hand, if he wanted to play cards or a game on Carl’s fucking Nintendo—any distraction would be a good thing.

Or so he thought, until he walked across the porch to find Daryl laying unconscious between his bike and the porch steps.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesus to the rescue.

“Unfortunately I do not have access to scientific evaluations of the efficacy of alternative medical treatments. God rest that beautiful triumph of technology known as the world wide web. However, I believe we can safely…”

Jesus felt like a goaded, caged animal. He was a talkative guy himself, and he had been told, most recently by Daryl, that his chattiness could get annoying. Or as Daryl put it, “You _ever_ shut that damn mouth?”

He’d never gone on a verbal rampage like this one, though.

It’s not that Eugene’s topic wasn’t important. Settled as they were, the surrounding area would run out of pharmacies and hospitals to scavenge eventually. They were already planning a run to a town three hours away to refill their supplies after the war, and the distance to the nearest unlooted towns would just grow and grow from here on out.

Even knowing all this, Jesus couldn’t force himself to pay attention to the intense rambling about the proper soil and temperatures for poppies, aloe vera, and a bunch of other plants he’d never heard of.

Eugene had found a couple of books about alternative medicine in their attic. Jesus would be willing to bet his beard that there were similar books in other houses in the community, and maybe even some seeds stashed in a garden shed somewhere. The original Alexandrians had spent a fortune to live in a community with solar panels, rainwater collection, and water reclamation built in—those yuppies would definitely have been into ginkgo fucking biloba.

If he could get a word in edgewise, Jesus would tell Eugene that. Maybe then the other man would leave him alone to go look.

They were all supposed to be resting today after the horrors of the previous three months. It was gorgeous outside, clear and not too humid for once, and Jesus wanted to wander the community he’d adopted and get to know it a little better. In the rare times he’d stayed here during the war, he’d been busy every day and crushingly exhausted every night.

He didn’t regret moving to Alexandria, even if he was starting to regret moving in with Eugene. Space was more limited since the Saviors had lit a third of the town on fire with molotov cocktails, and Eugene had been living alone since Negan murdered Abraham. Jesus thought he was beginning to understand why no one else had taken one of the three open rooms in the house until he showed up. Daryl had opted for Rick’s tiny basement room instead.

Jesus shook his head to clear it, as he often did when Daryl shuffled into it uninvited. The other man was avoiding him, and good riddance. Jesus wasn’t about to chase after the rough-and-tumble hunter. He knew when he wasn’t wanted.

Unlike Eugene, unfortunately.

It was past time to make a break for it. Jesus edged down the porch steps, beginning to walk away mid-sentence yet still afraid to seem rude. “That sounds very important, I’d better leave you to-”

But Jesus had met prison cells easier to escape. Eugene just kept on talking. “Some useful phytochemicals are already available to us. There is an illicit cannabis plant in Tara and Rosita’s backyard that could be repurposed for medical use. Abraham mentioned it when…” he trailed off.

Jesus perked up briefly at the mention of a pot plant—he’d definitely be sneaking into Tara’s yard later.

Meanwhile, Eugene recovered from his brief lapse and was speculating, in great detail, on his chances of cultivating something called summer savory.

Jesus looked around the street a little desperately, hoping a passerby might rescue him, only to realize he was witnessing an actual rescue in progress. Rick had his arm around Daryl’s back and was trying to pull him down the street.

Daryl’s gait couldn’t even be called a limp. He was doing more stumbling than walking, and then suddenly he just went down, Rick doing his best to ease his way. Jesus must have made a noise, though he couldn’t remember doing so, because Eugene jolted and looked up from his book.

Next thing Jesus knew, he was sprinting.

Rick had managed to put Daryl in a fireman’s carry, but his expression was pure gratitude when Jesus rushed forward. They lowered Daryl gently to the street, then each took a shoulder to hoist him back up. Jesus scanned Daryl’s body as best he could, but he couldn’t see anything obviously wrong.

The leader answered the implied question. “Don’t know what’s wrong yet, but he passed out and he’s burning up.”

Shit. Fevers were bad.

Daryl had seemed fine the last time they’d hung out, but that was two days ago. Jesus thought back, desperate to remember if the other man had seemed ill.

He’d been teaching the redneck to escape some basic knots, teasing Daryl with silly consequences if he didn’t escape in under five minutes: cutting a heart into his precious vest, smoking his last cigarette, snapping one of his bolts, and other harmless stakes. Jesus got the cigarette, but mostly Daryl managed to work his way free in the allotted time.

Watching Daryl writhe around had been… inspiring, to say the least, and Jesus decided to make his move. They’d been flirting for ages; surely they both knew where this was going, however much Daryl liked playing hard to get.

So the scout had pushed a little. He wasn’t proud of it, but he’d tied Prusik cuffs and given the same ultimatum, only this time he threatened to kiss the hunter if he couldn’t free himself.

The southerner had growled, “Aw, hell,” and started struggling vigorously, but he hadn’t beaten their egg timer.

Jesus couldn’t have escaped that particular knot in five minutes either, but Daryl didn’t need to know that.

So the scout had knelt down and kissed the bound man full on the mouth. He’d kept it chaste, but he hadn’t kept it quick. Daryl’s dry lips had been completely still under his own, his face alarmingly scarlet and his eyes wide.

Dazed was a good look on him. Even better, while Daryl’s mouth hadn’t responded, another part of the older man’s anatomy had. Jesus couldn’t help but quirk an eyebrow. Getting such... enthusiasm from a simple kiss had surprised him.

But instead of giving into their obvious mutual attraction, finally, after _weeks_ of Jesus’s subtle and not-so-subtle clues, Daryl had instead frozen him out. Once Jesus pulled away, the hunter had quietly demanded that he cut the rope, then stomped off somewhere, tips of his ears afire and arms locked tightly over his chest.

The next day he’d seen Daryl slouch out the gate with his crossbow—he’d promised to teach Jesus to track, but apparently had decided to go out hunting instead, pouting like a child.

He hadn’t taken any backup. Anything could have happened out there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not nonconsensual kissing. It's just Daryl freaking out after a very consensual kiss.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They get Daryl settled.

Just seconds after Paul Rovia rushed up to take Daryl’s other shoulder, Eugene was in front of them as well. Rick thought about asking him to take over for Jesus—Rick and Daryl were both half a head taller than the scout—but the smaller man spoke first.

“Go get Aaron, he’s the only other person who can ride the motorcycle. Remind him he’ll have to walk it around the barricades. We’ve only got a bottle of antibiotics and some pain meds here.”

 _Right. Fucking fuck._ Rick was aiming for the clinic, but he’d forgotten that they’d sent everything useful to Hilltop so Dr. Carson could treat those injured in their final battle with Negan. _Stupid._ Anything could be wrong with Daryl and all they could do was give him some penicillin and wait.

Eugene was about to dash off when Rick said, “And find Carl, tell him to keep Judith away from the infirmary. The other kids, too.”

Jesus and Eugene exchanged fleeting glances.

“We don’t know what’s wrong with him yet,” Rick explained. “Could be minor, but… let’s keep them away for now.”

The mulleted man nodded and hustled off.

When they finally reached the clinic Carol wasn’t there. She wouldn’t go far or be gone long while on duty, but Rick still felt murderous.

This was all so sudden. He’d seen Daryl that very morning and the hunter hadn’t mentioned feeling unwell.

 _Not that that means a damn thing_ , Rick thought, worried and angry in equal measure, _He could be hiding a serious wound, he could have been sick for weeks and kept quiet to stay in the fight, he could have had a concussion and not taken proper care of it, because Daryl is a selfless fucking moron and he wouldn’t have wanted to take up the doctor’s time._

Daryl woke up a bit when they pulled him onto the cot, but he was disoriented and extremely unhappy. Rick sometimes forgot this version of his friend. Merle’s loudmouth baby brother was still there, hidden somewhere inside Rick’s quiet, introspective older brother.

“Stop! Who- who the fuck _are_ you? Why are you—you let me GO.” This last word sounded desperate and was accompanied by a lunge for Rick’s stomach that was easily blocked.

“Daryl, for Christ’s sake, it’s just me and Jesus. You have a fever, Carol’s gonna check you over.”

But their feral patient fought harder than ever, throwing himself towards the other side of the cot. Jesus barely managed to keep him from pitching himself to the floor.

Scowling, Rick pressed the archer’s broad shoulders to the bed while Jesus started to pull on the wrist restraints. It was necessary—Daryl clearly had a fever, so the shackles were standard procedure—but it felt horrible trying to restrain him when he was already terrified and confused.

Then the sick man wrestled a hand free and, without hesitation, sucker punched Rick straight in the face. Suddenly the leader didn’t feel too bad about tying Daryl down.

“Shit, sorry!” Jesus said.

“Just get him buckled in.” Daryl hadn’t been able to really maneuver his powerful arm, but Rick bet that his jaw would still bruise. He almost hoped so—maybe he could use it to guilt Daryl into washing his damn clothes more than once a month or following the house policy against butchering animals in the kitchen.

Assuming Daryl survived this. Assuming he wasn’t seriously ill, or bit, or-

The door slammed open and Carol appeared, obviously having run from somewhere. “What- Eugene said- What happened?” She came forward, laying a gentle hand across Daryl’s forehead.

Carol’s presence was as good as a sedative. Daryl gently tried to shake her hand away from his head but was otherwise docile. She moved her hand down to his wrist instead, taking his pulse.

“Don’t know yet, he’s not making much sense. I found him flat on his back in the yard,” Rick explained. Most people wouldn’t have seen it, but there was terror in Carol’s eyes. “Aaron’s going for help,” he added gently.

Carol nodded. “I’ll grab what we have left. We need to get that fever down.”

“Carol… we have to check him first. If he’s bit-”

“Stop it. He’d have said something, you know that.”

“I do. And I think he’s gonna be just fine. But he was out hunting yesterday, and I think he was alone… it would just take one scratch. He might not have noticed.”

She nodded shortly, refusing to meet his eyes. “Fine, we’ll check him, but I want to get some medication in him first. Then I’ll prep a saline I.V. Maybe he can tell us what happened when his head’s clearer.” With a final pat of Daryl’s arm, she moved away to dig up any supplies they had left.

Daryl was more aware now, tracking them all with his eyes. He was calm right until he tried to push his hair from his face and discovered that he couldn’t move his arms more than a few inches from the bed. A miniature tantrum ensued, complete with slamming his fists into the mattress. “Rick,” he croaked, looking miserable.

Jesus leaned over to smooth the hair off the feverish man’s face, saying in a soothing tone, “Hey, calm down. You’re going to hurt yourself. Deep breaths, we’re just trying to help…”

The coddling went over about as well as could be expected.

“Didn’t ask for no help, cocksucker,” the redneck hissed.

Rick barked, “ _Daryl_!” as Jesus’s eyes widened with surprise and anger.

To his credit, Daryl had obviously already realized exactly what he’d done wrong and why Jesus’s expression was stony. He hunched down onto the bed, shoulders near his ears in pitiful schoolboy guilt. “Didn’t mean it literal. Just meant you’re a prick for fuckin’ draggin' me in here. I’m _fine_.” He tried to cross his arms before again realizing they were shackled.

“That ain’t exactly an apology,” Rick warned absently, more alarmed by Daryl’s confusion than his temper. Lashing out wasn’t out of character. Forgetting twice in less than half a minute that his hands were bound— _that_ wasn’t normal.

“We’ll talk about it later, ok? You’re sick, no filter—I get it. Besides, not like it isn’t true,” Jesus said. The long-haired man even gave a small smile.

Daryl just about shattered. Rick’s eyebrows climbed skyward at his urgently whispered “Paul!”

When had Daryl stopped calling the scout either Rovia, prick, or asshole?

Daryl wasn’t done, either. “Ain’t fine. I don’t got a single problem with you, or Aaron, or… I ain’t _Merle_.” He paused for a thoughtful moment, then continued, “M’sorry. You can take a free shot at me if ya want, but ya probably better wait until Carol turns me loose or you’ll have her to reckon with.”

Rick stared in bewilderment, not so much at the words as the panicky, eager-to-please expression Daryl had delivered along with them.

What the hell was going on here?

Gun to his head, Rick would have guessed (preferably out of Daryl’s hearing, in case he guessed wrong and Daryl took exception) that his brother might be gay. And he’d even suspected that the hunter was guarding some kind of rat’s nest of complicated emotion towards Jesus in that head of his. Maybe some lingering mistrust, maybe some discomfort at the scout’s blatant sexuality. Maybe even some latent attraction.

But Daryl’s expression wasn’t distrusting, and perhaps it was the fever, but Rick didn’t think the attraction was anything like as latent as he’d have assumed this morning.

So on top of worrying about Daryl’s fever, Rick was now wondering if he needed to plan a shovel talk, if he needed to beat the shit out of this cocky little bastard just on principle, if he needed to ask around Hilltop about Jesus’s extensive reputation with gentlemen callers.

Because Jesus might be kind and brave and some kind of black belt, but he was also a smartass who was entirely too cheerful for the end of the world and he wasn’t good enough for Daryl, that was for damn sure.

Rick took a deep breath, watching much more closely now as Jesus gave Daryl a megawatt grin and Daryl smiled shyly back.

Carol’s came back in and made the feverish man take a few pills; Rick recognized oxycodone even as she lied and told Daryl it was tylenol. She left again quickly, probably hunting for materials to start that I.V.

Right. They’d get Daryl back on his feet first, _then_ Rick would decide what to do about Rovia.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesus is flirty, Rick is pissy, and Carol is a good nurse.

Jesus was taken aback on all counts. Not the slur—no, he was used to that, because bigots and closet cases survived the apocalypse at the same rates as everyone else. But he wasn’t used to being called by his real name, he didn’t think he’d ever heard Daryl say so many words in one go, and he’d certainly never heard him say anything that could be construed as sweet. Or even apologetic, now that he thought about it.

Jesus was concerned about Daryl’s fever, but truthfully he was also a little giddy. He forgave the other man easily, but that didn’t mean there weren’t consequences.

“A free shot at you, huh? What, you into that kind of thing, Dixon? Not my usual bag, but I could be persuaded.” Jesus arched an eyebrow, smirking.

Rick suddenly looked like he was in the planning stages of a crucifixion, but fortunately Carol came back in just then. “How you doing, pookie?”

 _Pookie!_ Jesus grinned at the gift Carol had just laid at his door. _Pookie_  looked bashful, head bent low and moving his hands as close to his face as the shackles would allow.

Carol glanced at Rick, and Rick sent Jesus a death stare and pointed him out of the room, not bothering to be subtle about it.

Jesus went, but he walked slowly, still halfway hoping for a response from the Daryl.

But the other man rallied from his embarrassment, ignoring Jesus and addressing Carol. “Guessin’ you ain’t here to let me out.”

“Honey, you’re burning up. What happened? Where’s it hurt?” She started gently pressing his abdomen.

Daryl squirmed away. “Fuck’s sake, woman.”

Rick left her to it and followed Jesus out of the room, probably deciding the scout wasn’t moving fast enough for his taste. The smaller man took the opportunity to dig for information about his favorite gruff redneck. “So who’s this Merle?”

Rick just scowled for a long moment. Maybe there was a word ration in Alexandria and everyone had given theirs to Eugene.

The leader finally answered, “Merle was Daryl’s older brother. Total asshole. Violent, drug user, racist and loud about it, sexually harassed the women… and all that just in the first few hours I knew him.”

“Tough to imagine Daryl having a brother like that,” Jesus said, mentally noting the significance of that 'was.'

Another odd pause, and Rick cocked his head and met Jesus’s eyes with a grim look. “Yeah, well, _I’m_ his brother now.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick discovers something sinister while checking Daryl over.

Rick and Carol decided to wait until the pain pills kicked in before checking Daryl for walker bites and scratches. They’d have to check his whole body, and neither wanted the hunter to be panicky or lashing out as they did so, especially since they had to unshackle him. Carol’s sneaky oxycodone was going to make this less of an ordeal for everyone involved, especially Daryl.

When they looked in on him again just half an hour later, Daryl was practically melted into his pillow. He didn’t seem very aware of his surroundings, which was unnerving to Rick but probably for the best, all things considered.

Carol pulled off the Daryl's shirt without any resistance, and she and Rick inspected him carefully. Rick had told Jesus that they didn’t need any more help and he was free to go home, but Carol thought that they should stay quarantined until they were sure Daryl wasn’t contagious. Rick hadn’t been able to disagree, and Jesus had jumped on the idea like being locked in with some unknown, potentially serious contagion was a fucking delight. Dickhead.

Daryl was more uninhibited about his body than Rick had ever seen him. Rick could count on one hand the times he’d seen the Daryl’s naked back, yet the scarred man let them rotate him onto his stomach without a fight. Jesus kept moving stealthily closer, and Rick noticed with annoyance that he had obviously gotten an eyeful. Not the kind he’d been after, either, the lech.

Rick glared again, but Jesus was incorrigible. He just gave some sort of  _can you blame me?_ shrug, wisely choosing not to comment on the deep scars that ran every which way across Daryl’s pale skin.

There were no bites or scratches on Daryl's chest, neck, arms, or back, so Carol and Rick pulled the shirt back on awkwardly, the drugged man neither helping nor resisting. In fact, the hunter was quiet and oblivious right until Rick flipped him back over on his front and started to undo his belt, button, and zipper.

That got a reaction: Daryl flinched violently, breath speeding up. “Shane?” he asked, out of the blue, sounding small and lost. He was slurring a little, but the name was crystal clear.

Rick froze, hands hovering somewhere over his friend’s stomach. Carol met his eyes, confusion and disbelief shadowed across her brow as well, leaning her head towards Daryl as if she must have misheard him.

Rovia confirmed it for them a moment later. “Uh… Shane’s an ex-boyfriend, I’m guessing?”

Rick and Carol just stared blankly at each other over Daryl’s rigid body, blindsided.

At least Jesus was pleased, the little shit. He rolled right past their stunned expressions to draw the entirely wrong conclusion. “Oh God, you didn’t know? I mean, rhetorical question. The look on your faces… obviously you didn't know. Even I’d only guessed.” The younger man looked at Daryl with a sage sort of sadness on his stupid bearded face.

Rick was definitely going to kick his ass, it’s just a question of when.

The scout kept talking, but Rick was no longer listening. Instead, he was drowning in panic like he was being chased by a herd of fresh walkers. Like he’d just been forced to kill his best friend in the world.

Because Jesus couldn’t read Daryl like they could. The man was laying tense to the point of pulling a muscle, deathly still on his back with his fly halfway down. Whatever memory they just triggered, it was not a happy one.

The image of Shane rose up before him, grinning broadly at first, then screaming and wild-eyed about how he’d be better for Lori, a better father to Carl. And sometime during that descent into insanity, had Shane also been screwing Daryl? Rick’s mind skidded around the idea, unable to really believe it.

It just made no sense. Shane had been pining after Rick’s wife, for god’s sake. He’d openly mocked the Dixons as white trash, junkies, inbred hicks… Shane had never seemed to like Daryl, let alone feel some sort of attraction to him.

And Daryl hadn’t liked _anyone_ back then.

A drunken one-night stand would have been exactly Shane’s style, especially with another guy… but Daryl? Shy, awkward Daryl, who didn’t like people touching him? The guy who used to sneak off to wash by himself, risking getting caught alone without backup just to ensure no one saw him? Maybe Rick and Carol had the wrong end of the stick. Daryl was drugged and had a hell of a fever. It probably didn’t mean anything.

Jesus was somehow _still talking_ , and even if Daryl hadn’t fucked Shane, Rick was beginning to seriously question his taste in men.

“Rick I know you must be… surprised. I’m guessing this doesn’t fit the exact, ah, image you had of him. But it’s still Daryl, and if you’re still ok with helping, you guys really need to get him checked out.”

Jesus thought Rick was hesitating over gay cooties, for fuck’s sake. Was the man blind? Daryl’s eyes were now screwed up tight, his hands balled into fists.

Carol wasn’t moving either, and with one glance Rick confirmed that they were on the same page: the Hilltop scout didn’t need to know why hearing that name out of Daryl’s mouth was throwing them.

More importantly, though, they needed to figure out what was wrong with their brother. Rick had no choice but to plow on. “Daryl, it’s not Shane, alright? It’s Rick and Carol, and Jesus is here, too. You got sick, we’re just taking care of you. OK? That’s all.”

There was no response but he thought maybe Daryl’s fists relaxed a bit. Rick gently tugged the pants downward and off, leaving Daryl’s strong legs exposed. Carol had to prod at a scraped knee for a few moments to be sure it didn’t conceal a scratch, but everything looked fine so far. All that was left were the loose boxers, so Carol went to string up the I.V. she’d prepared. Rick started to breath easier—barring a bite on the ass, they’d begin treating Daryl for the fever as best they could.

Rovia had the decency to turn away, but Rick nevertheless checked under the boxers without removing them entirely. He could still hear “Shane?” echoing through his mind in Daryl’s most timid voice.

He’d finished in front and was gently flipping Daryl back on his stomach when the hunter spoke again, only this time, it was a growl. “No,” he said ferociously, struggling weakly. “I don’ haveta.”

“Relax, Daryl. We’re done.” Rick asked, pulling the boxers back up once he was sure the man hadn’t been sitting on a walker scratch. Daryl rolled himself back over, glaring blearily.

“Done. Yeah. Don’t haveta suck your dick anymore, or let ya…” He trailed off, then started up again just as forcefully. “Ya can’t kick me out, I fuckin’ feed ‘em. Your Lil’ Asskicker eats cause of me. I earn m’place.”

 

—

 

Later on, Rick would be surprised he survived long enough to explain himself to Jesus.

He was struggling to understand what Daryl had just said, the implication, the wrongness of it. The hunter went silent afterwards, leaving Rick to stare open-mouthed at his best friend in gut-wrenching shock. He spared a moment to be grateful that Carol was out of the room, knowing Daryl wouldn’t want her to have heard that.

Jesus, an even less welcome audience, went completely still at the foot of the cot. Eventually the smaller man interrupted Rick’s frantic thoughts.

“Rick?” the scout asked, voice friendly, like they’d just run into each other at a grocery store somewhere. “Does Daryl think that he can only stay in Alexandria if he has sex with you?”

Rick felt like he’d been shoved off a cliff. “What did you just- for god’s sake, he’s confused. He's not talking about me—you heard him, he thought I was Shane.” Seeing Jesus’s face harden, his jaw clenched and his hands shaking in fury, the former cop realized that he was one wrong answer away from a snapped neck.

“I heard him talking to Shane a few minutes ago, yeah. Then I heard him talking to _you_. About _your_ Lil’ Asskicker. So…” Jesus took a single step forward, his posture completely casual. The leader nevertheless took a step back as Jesus continued, voice suddenly dripping with real venom. “Try. Again. Why would your brother,” he spat the word contemptuously, “think that he has to earn his place by getting on his knees for you? Hmm?”

Rick knew he needed to calm Jesus down, and quick, but the horror of Daryl’s inadvertent confession hit him full-force at that moment. Because he could see it all, the way Shane would have been able to play on Daryl’s insecurities back then. Worse, looking back, he thought he could see a strategy to Shane’s hazing and bullying. He’d gone out of his way to make Daryl feel like an outsider.

The former deputy had to pause, take a harsh breath, and stifle his thoughts. From somewhere deep in the past he dredged up his Friendly Policeman voice.

“Jesus. Er, Paul. Think about this for a minute. You’ve seen him with me. Hell, think all the way back to that first day with the truck. Has he ever seemed uncomfortable around me? Have I _ever_ treated him like anything other than family?” Jesus stopped advancing but still looked ready to pounce. “Now Shane, Shane was a member of our group back at the beginning. He was my partner on the force before everything went to hell. You know some of the story, I was left behind in a coma. Before I found her, my wife was… _with_ him, for awhile, a few months before Judith was born.”

Rick hated every second of this, hated admitting it even more with his new knowledge of Shane’s depravity. But Jesus’s face remained perfectly blank, so Rick kept trying. “Judith is Carl’s sister, but she isn’t… she’s not biologically mine.”

Carol reentered the room carrying a saline pack and rolling the I.V. stand. “What’s wrong?” she asked, mouth taut, taking in the tension between them. Her eyes darted to Daryl first, still awake but with unfocused eyes. Then she noticed Jesus’s stance and Rick’s hands held defensively in the air, and her hand flew to her knife.

“No, Carol! No, it’s fine, it’s all fine. Jesus… Jesus just needs you to explain something for him.” She didn’t pull out her knife but she kept her hand on the hilt and moved a little towards Rick, obviously preparing for them to gang up on the scout if need be. Rick continued, “It’s going to sound strange, but I promise he needs to know. You need to tell him what Daryl called Judy before she was born, that winter before the prison.”

Like every member of their family, they could read each other well. Carol didn’t understand, but she knew immediately Rick was deadly serious. “He… he called her Little Shane, whenever he was mad at Lori. Which was a lot. I didn’t know you knew about that.”

For a long moment it didn’t seem to be enough, but Jesus finally asked in a stony voice, “So Rick’s wife had an affair with this Shane guy… and Daryl thought Judith was his?” Carol nodded hesitantly, giving Rick an apologetic glance.

Jesus bowed his head for a moment, shaking it vigorously. From the bed, Daryl watched the long sandy hair fan out around the scout's head.

Carol frowned. “Alright, whatever’s happening here,” she said, gesturing between them, “it’s gonna have to wait. Did you even finish checking him for bites?”

The scout’s friendly demeanor flashed back alarmingly fast. “Sorry, Carol. Of course you’re right. No bites or scratches. What else can we do for him?” 

She sent Jesus to heat up a can of soup in the kitchen. It was an obvious ploy, but she did what she could for Daryl before broaching the topic again.

“You want to tell me why I almost had to stab Daryl’s new boyfriend?”

 _Oh great, so she’s noticed that too_ , Rick thought morosely. “Do you know anything about Daryl and Shane… uh, do you remember how much time they spent together, before I got to the quarry?”

“Daryl hated Shane from day one.” Carol’s eyebrows knitted slowly. “That’s why I didn’t understand… Rick, what’s going on? Did he say something else?”

Rick just looked at the man on the bed, not sure what to say.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol and Jesus have a nice chat.

Carol finished feeding Daryl a few spoonfuls of broth and invited Jesus to follow her back into the kitchen for a bowl of soup. He glanced over at Rick, but the leader was ignoring everything that wasn’t Daryl. Jesus sympathized--he hated to leave the hunter, but he was starting to feel suffocated by Rick’s silence and his own self-recrimination.

Jesus wasn’t sure how she did it, but within moments of sitting down with bowls of Campbell’s chicken noodle, he found himself spilling his guts to Carol, the guilt pouring out of him.

“I messed up. I kissed him the other day, and... I don't think he was ok with it. I mean he could have said no, but maybe... I don't know.” He ground his spoon absently into his bowl, smashing a noodle against its edge. Thinking about Daryl was making it impossible to eat.

Carol smiled lightly. “Jesus, sweetie, if Daryl wasn’t ok with it, your face would be caved in.”

“That’s the thing, I was teaching him how to escape different types of knots. So he was, uh, tied up at the time.”

She said nothing, taking another bite of soup.

“It was a stupid game, and I think- no, I _know_ he’s mad about it. Or upset, maybe. He was supposed to start teaching me to track yesterday when he went hunting and he left me behind, and he got himself sick somehow, and I just...”

Carol still said nothing, and after a pause Jesus kept right on confessing. Something about the older woman’s open, kind face made it easy. She reminded him a little of his mother in that way.

“I mean I thought he wanted it, obviously, I wasn’t trying to… but he hasn't talked to me since. At the time it seemed, I don't know, cute. Now, knowing about that asshole Shane, what he did… and maybe I read Daryl all wrong, maybe he doesn’t even like me. And I just took that from him...”

Carol finally spoke up, locking eyes with him as she said, “Honey, I think it's obvious he likes you, but let me give you a word of advice. As far as I know, he hasn’t done this before. You need to slow things down enough that he can catch up with you.” She paused thoughtfully, folding her hands in her lap. “Here’s one way to think about it. Try to visualize how slowly you’d be moving if you woke up one day and someone had cut off one of your feet. Just sliced it clean off... let's say your right foot, a little above the ankle. You'd live--I've treated an amputation before--but you'd have to be a lot more _careful_ , wouldn't you? You would have to pace yourself, think long and hard about every little step, because tripping could really hurt you with that kind of injury. See what I mean?” She smiled beatifically. “Slow and steady wins the race, Jesus.”

They sat in uncomfortable silence as Carol returned to her soup.

“Yeah, I uh, I think I get what you're saying.” Jesus stood up slowly, not keen on making any sudden movements. “Thanks for the advice,” he added after clearing his throat.

“Oh, you’re finished already? Let me take your bowl. I'll put in the the fridge for you—we can’t be wasting food.” She bustled away with his dishes. Jesus walked backwards from the room, heart pounding, not entirely sure what the hell just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carol is tough to write, yo. Hope this isn't too over-the-top.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drugged interrogation.

Rick hovered at the edge of the cot, checking Daryl’s pulse and fever far more often than necessary. Lunch had come and gone, and Carol now sat on the other bed skimming medical textbooks. 

Oddly, Jesus was reading in the kitchen rather than annoying them in the main room. There was tension in the house that Rick couldn’t be bothered to analyze, too preoccupied with the man laying damp and boneless near the window.

“Shane forced himself on Daryl, didn’t he?” Carol’s voice was quiet, but it still startled the leader. 

Rick had known she would work it out. Didn’t mean he could stomach a conversation about it, though.

His silence seemed to confirm Carol’s suspicions. Her chin wobbled a little as she continued in a heavy voice, “Jesus gave it away. Besides, it’s the only thing that makes sense. I’ve been thinking about Daryl back at the farm, how he was always sneaking off. Angry all the time. I mean he was a complete sweetheart even then, but… he changed so quickly, so _drastically,_ after the farm fell. He started to open up, even had a sense of humor.”

Rick nodded, throat tight. The same thoughts had occurred to him.

“He never told you and he never told me; that’s almost a guarantee that he never told anyone.” She stood and joined him at Daryl’s bedside, folding her arms over her baby blue cardigan. “He needs to talk about it, Rick.”

Rick laughed drily. “Yeah… how likely is that, though?” Truth was, he desperately wanted answers, but he figured he had an icicle’s chance in hell of getting them.

“I’ll try if you won’t, or if you do and he won’t let you in… but it would be better coming from you.” 

“Me? Best friend of the guy who- who raped him?” Saying the word aloud hurt, but Rick forced himself to do it, to face Shane’s ghost head on.

“You, best friend of the guy who was raped,” Carol replied gently. They sat looking at their sleeping friend a moment before she continued, “He’s dreaming about it years later, Rick. That repression isn’t healthy for him.”

“I know. And I’ll try,” the leader agreed with a defeated sigh, still battling to form words through the miasma of sadness and horror that settled over his mind. “Doesn’t mean he’ll talk, though.”

Because really, why would Daryl ever trust him with this?

Thinking of Shane with Daryl left him trembling in rage and hatred, and a lot of it was aimed squarely at himself. Because Rick, a goddamn _cop_ , had been too oblivious and absorbed in his own problems to see what must have been right in front of his face. He’d been eager to make excuses for Shane, pulling his head out of his ass only when it was his own safety on the line.

Carol reached out and rested a hand on Daryl’s. “He’s ok, you know. He’s a survivor, not a victim.” Again, Rick couldn’t respond. Carol’s other hand came up and squeezed his briefly. “You have any experience with this?”

“No,” Rick tried to answer, but he was so choked up that the word was nearly incomprehensible. He tried again. “No. I’ve worked cases, but… not the same.” That was an understatement. Rick felt like he’d been dropped into a unnavigable maze with no map, no compass, and hundreds of booby traps. He was coiled up with overwhelming guilt and impotent rage, and that’s just the beginning of the shitshow brewing in his head.

If Daryl wouldn’t talk to him, it would leave Rick with just his own memory for answers, and he thought he’d literally drive himself insane: _When did it start? How? Were there others, or had Daryl been the sole victim?_

Carl crossed his mind and Rick bolted for the sink, heaving up his soup loudly.

 

—

 

Daryl’s fever broke around midnight. He was still very drugged, pale, and clammy, but Rick allowed himself to hope that the main crisis was over.

Jesus and Carol had finally gone to sleep, leaving Rick to take first watch.

There had been a little bit of a standoff over whether Rick could just stay with him the whole night, but he’d eventually agreed to wake Carol after five or six hours. Jesus had also wanted to take a shift, but Jesus could go fuck himself.

Carol had insisted on giving Daryl more pain medication before she went to sleep. The scout had raised his eyebrows but wisely kept his trap shut. Even Rick considered objecting—he knew there was a big chance she was administering more oxy as a truth serum, rather than because she thought Daryl was in pain—but in the end he kept his trap shut, too. Maybe Daryl did need to talk, and he certainly wouldn’t do it sober.

About an hour after the fever broke, Rick noticed that Daryl’s eyes were open and roving the ceiling. The leader sat up swiftly and started removing the shackles. “Daryl? You with me? How you feeling?”

“M’fine,” the redneck grunted. Rick couldn’t help his exasperated sigh. He’d be willing to bet that someday those would be Daryl’s last words. “Why’m I here?” the drugged man asked, looking around sleepily.

“You had a fever, pretty bad one.”

“Oh.” Daryl shifted restlessly on the bed. “Can’t fuckin’ remember.”

“That’s ok. Carol might’ve overdone it with the pain meds. You’re gonna be just fine, that’s the important thing.” Rick knew, positively knew, that it would be wrong to question Daryl while the guy was weak and confused. He wouldn’t have gotten away with shit like that back on the force, but this wasn’t a case and the rest of the King County Sheriff’s Department was long dead. The leader blew out a breath and began right away, not wanting to waste the pain medication. “We were talking about Shane earlier, you remember?” 

“Huh? Why?” the hunter asked. Then, after a moment, “Guy was an asshole.”

“Yes he was. More than I knew, apparently,” Rick ground out, faking a reassuring smile. “Look, you said some things in your sleep, and… I’m gonna ask you some questions about it. ‘Bout Shane. You probably won’t like them, but it’s stuff we need to talk about, alright?”

“Rick…” Daryl protested vaguely. “Long time ago, man.”

“Yeah, it was. Still important, though.”

“Dunno why…”

Rick didn’t have an easy answer to that, so he just bulldozed forward. “You could talk to Carol instead. Or,” he hesitated minutely, “or Jesus, if you want.” 

“ _Paul_ heard me talkin’ about Shane?” When Rick nodded, Daryl’s head slumped back on the bed, the picture of dejection. “Fuck.”

The leader really didn’t want to get off track talking about his brother’s incomprehensible crush on Jesus. “So you want to talk to me, or one of them? Or I could get someone else.” It occurred to him belatedly that while they didn’t have a therapist or psychologist in Alexandria, there was a chance that Father Gabriel had some sort of experience in pastoral counseling. The old preacher at Lori’s church did—they’d had a couple of sessions just before the shooting.

Rick almost thought Daryl had fallen back asleep when the other man sighed, “Ask what ya gotta ask. Nosy fucker.” The hunter was loose and open, clearly feeling the oxycodone, his voice lazy and gruff.

Rick frowned. He told himself one last time that Daryl ought to talk about it for his own good. “You said earlier, when the fever was high, that Shane- that he made you do, um, things you didn’t want.”

Daryl said nothing, but that silence spoke volumes.

“I’m not going to ask for details, Daryl, just the big picture, alright? Can you tell me how many times he… how many times it happened?”

After a long pause, the hunter grumbled out, ”Maybe ten?” He fidgeted with the sheet a bit.

"Maybe ten, or exactly ten?” Rick knew he shouldn’t play the cop right now, not with his best friend, but part of him couldn’t help it. It was easier, even comforting, to slip into that role. To treat this like any other investigation.

Daryl hunched over, clearly enormously uncomfortable. “Ten.”

“When did it start?”

“CDC.”

“Shit, Daryl, how? Did he get the drop on you, or…”

The man on the bed pulled defensively into himself immediately, rasping out, “Fuck you, man. I coulda kicked his roided-out ass.”

Rick doubted it—back then Daryl’s only real advantages were his good reflexes and a history of bar fights, which didn’t go far against police academy training. The leader kept his mouth shut, though.

After closing his eyes and covering his face, Daryl continued, “I was such a goddamn coward. He was gonna kick me out and I was too scared to go it alone, so I just rolled over and took it. Became his bitch, didn’t even put up a fight. That what ya wanted to hear? Am I free to go now, officer?”

“Hey, no—no, Daryl. That’s not true at all. Getting kicked out would have scared anyone to death, ok? None of us would have made it alone.” He was trying to find that neutral place he used to have when questioning the victim of a terrible crime, but he wasn't sure that place existed anymore. Rage was swirling in equal measure with grief through his bloodstream, leaching into his heart.

Daryl turned stubbornly on his side, facing the wall. His eyes were still glazed. “Don’t fuckin’ matter anymore, Grimes, and m’done playin’ twenty questions with ya.”

Rick almost left it alone, but he figured the only thing worse than forcing his friend to remember all this shit was forcing him to remember and then leaving him alone thinking he was a coward, that it was somehow his fault. “I think it does matter. Daryl, nothing he did was your fault. You’ve been holding this in, suppressing it-”

Daryl tried to interrupt, getting out, “Fuckin’ psychology bullshit-” but Rick talked over him.

“And this is also for me, alright? Knowing that he hurt you and just having to- to _wonder_ about it, it’s gonna kill me. I know that’s not fair to you, but it’s true. So please, you don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to. I won’t bring it up ever again after tonight if you don’t want me to. But please.” 

Daryl didn’t answer, just curled in closer to the wall. Still, he could have told Rick to fuck off, but he didn’t—so Rick didn’t. “What happened at the CDC?”

The hunter sighed, pressing a hand over his eyes and turning onto his back. “We don’t talk ‘bout it again? Ever?” 

“Sure, if that’s what you want.”

Another lengthy pause, then, “At the CDC we were both drunk. Next day he said I started it, and he weren't no faggot so I guess I believed him,” Daryl said in a dead voice. Rick couldn’t tell if the man even realized that he’d just officially come out of the closet. “Next time he sure as shit started it, though. He, uh… slipped me some E from Merle’s stash. Son of a bitch said he’d ‘confiscated’ it so I wouldn’t get stoned around the kids, even though I told him I ain’t touched drugs in years and E was never my thing anyhow. Good thing too, cause it turned me into a fuckin' whore. I didn’t even try to fight him until the third time.”

Rick clenched his fists, wanting to murder a man he'd already murdered years ago. He had to force himself to stay silent for as long as Daryl was willing to keep talking.

“That time it weren’t booze or drugs, he just said all that shit ‘bout how he could get me kicked outta camp. Drugged me a couple times later on, though, just cause he thought it was funny or somethin' to make me want it. He couldn't really get me, y’know, _interested_ , without the molly. Not my type I guess.” The hunter snorted bitterly. “After that I’d only eat my own kills. Drank straight from the well.”

“Christ,” the leader exhaled. “Daryl, why- why didn’t you tell me? Or Carol, maybe?”

Daryl dug both of his fists into his eyes like a small child. “Fuck, Rick, he was your buddy from high school and I was some redneck asshole you got stuck with at the end of the world. The shit he was gonna say… I thought you’d ‘a shot me. Bastard said you'd believe him if he told ya I was tweakin’, or stealin’ food, or… he-” Emotion creaked through his voice as he continued, “He said he'd tell Carol that I'd been messin' with Sophia. That you'd believe that, too.” 

“Tell me that you know better now. That you know I would have heard you out,” Rick demanded, hand reaching out of Daryl's arm. The other man didn't pull away from his touch.

“Shit, I knew when you pussyfooted around decidin’ what to do with Randall. I worked up a speech tellin’ the bastard I was through, but ya killed him before I could give it.”

"I'd do it again. Wish I'd done it sooner.”

Daryl nodded, finally turning to face Rick again.

“Y’know this ain’t on you, right?”

Rick huffed in disbelief, but forced himself to nod. "Ain't on you either, brother. Just... thank you for talking to me. I hope it helps some." He breathed one last deep breath before adding, "Gotta ask one more thing... do you think he ever- he was so close to Carl, did he-"

"No," Daryl said emphatically, looking horrified. "Fuck no, Rick. I'd have killed the sumbitch, even back then before we were... no, never saw any sign a' that."

Rick nodded slowly, tearing up despite himself. "I'll ask him later, just to be sure. I mean I won't mention you, I'll just..." he waved a hand vaguely. Because he had no clue what exactly he'd do.

Daryl nodded as if he understood. It hadn't been intentional, but Rick could tell that turning the conversation away from the hunter had helped break the tension in the room. "You do that. And let me get some fuckin' sleep already, huh?" He wasn't meeting Rick's eyes but his tone was almost normal.

Rick smiled shakily at him. "Alright then. Get some rest. Carol's taking over for me in a bit so she'll be here when you wake up."

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick and Jesus have a nice chat.

Jesus woke just after dawn to the sound of his ex-boyfriend talking with Carol and Rick somewhere on the other side of the door. He blinked awake, sitting up slowly; he was sleeping on a couch in what had once been a home office. As he stretched he could make out Daryl’s name occasionally, but not much else.

The scout wasn’t surprised Alex, a former med student, was the person Aaron brought back from Hilltop. Dr. Carson was undoubtedly busy tending to the wounded from their final battle with the Saviors. No one knew if Rosita or Earl would pull through; a wall had fallen on top of the young woman and the blacksmith had a bullet wound to his abdomen that would likely be complicated by sepsis.

Others had long roads to recovery ahead. Sasha had been shot through the thigh, with bullet fragments buried deep in the muscles. Wes was one of three fighters with walker bites; Maggie had amputated his hand quickly enough to save him, but the blood loss nearly got him instead. Heath had vicious burns across his back and all down one arm. He’d tried and failed to pull Tobin away from an exploding car.

The list went on from there.

Pressing past those worries to focus on his more immediate concern, Jesus strained to hear Alex’s opinion of Daryl’s sudden fever. Of course he _could_ just join the trio in the hallway, but as much as he wanted to know how Daryl was doing, he also didn’t really want to face them just yet if he could avoid it.

Alex had been hateful since their breakup. His inability to move on, or to give Jesus space to do the same, was one of many reasons the scout was staying in Alexandria now. Jesus could handle his immature ex more easily than Rick or Carol at the moment, though, because he was less sure what the hell had gotten into either of them.

Also, they were objectively scarier.

Rick had a good reason to be pissed off at him—shit, he’d accused the man of raping his best friend—but the leader had been strangely irritable all day yesterday, even before their confrontation over Daryl’s fever dream.

And the more Jesus thought about his conversation with Carol, the more certain he was that he’d need to sleep with one eye open if he wanted to continue pursuing Daryl.

God, Daryl. Jesus pressed his palms against his face as yesterday’s uneasiness and piercing rage returned. In the aftermath of his unfortunate misunderstanding with Rick he’d somehow forgotten to ask if that Shane guy was dead. It was a pretty safe assumption, most people were dead nowadays, but Jesus didn’t want to assume. He wanted to _know_ and he wanted _details_. Hopefully the bastard had been left behind as a roamer somewhere, rotting, slowly starving, paying mindless penance for daring to hurt someone as sweet as Daryl.

Jesus inhaled sharply through his nose as hatred tightened his mouth—and immediately erupted into a huge sneezing fit. The office was covered in a thick layer of dust.

Groaning quietly at the sudden silence in the hall, Jesus heaved himself off the couch, dragged a hand through his hair, and straightened his clothes. Then he stumbled out to face the music.

Carol smiled pleasantly when she saw him, hands perched on her hips. Rick just gritted his teeth, not looking his way. Alex was wearing a surgical mask and, behind that, a very familiar look on his face.

“Oh, hey Paul. Didn’t know _you_ were here.”

Christ. Jesus had made the mistake of admitting—once! while stoned!—that he thought Daryl was hot, and now Alex was pole-vaulting to conclusions about the his presence at the man’s sick bed.

The fact that those conclusions were 100% correct just made Alex even more annoying.

“Yeah, got trapped in the quarantine. I helped Rick here carry our favorite redneck down the street.” Jesus smiled innocently, mentally telegraphing, _Just being neighborly, Alex, so stop being a prick._ “How’s the patient doing today?”

Eyes sweeping the three in front of him, Jesus literally startled at Rick and Carol’s twin expressions of malevolence. Carol’s disappeared in a flash, but Rick continued side-eyeing him throughout Alex’s explanation of Daryl’s symptoms.

Ok, then. Their problem with him was obviously not going away anytime soon.

—

Alex told them that the sudden fever had to have been from some sort of infection, since it responded well to the antibiotics. Carol’s dosing had been all wrong, apparently, but Daryl was on the mend nevertheless. If he took a turn for the worse they would send Aaron for him, but for now the redneck needed rest and continued monitoring.

His ex remained eagle-eyed throughout the rest of the visit, so Jesus didn’t actually check on Daryl for about another hour. Trying to spare Alex’s many, many feelings was exhausting, always had been. When he finally left, Jesus snuck into the living room and quietly took the stool closest to Daryl’s cot, opening Dante’s Inferno in his lap. He’d found a brand new copy in the office’s tall cherrywood bookcase and decided it belonged to him now.

The redneck was sweating slightly, face pale and drawn. Jesus felt almost as shaky as Daryl appeared, sitting back with a nauseated little pull at the side of his mouth. He closed Inferno and just let himself look.

He’d known early on that Daryl wouldn’t be easy in any sense of the word. Most of the time the older man treated Jesus like an annoying terrier nipping at his heels. He only really opened up when no one else was around, and even then it was like pulling teeth the get the hunter to relax, to talk, and (finally, after weeks of effort) to flirt back.

It had felt like a game at the time, but Daryl’s hesitation broke his heart in retrospect. Seeing the scars crisscrossing his back, then learning about Shane… it all served to confirm that Daryl was twenty shades more complicated than he’d even suspected.

Jesus had spent the whole of the apocalypse avoiding any complications.

But then Maggie and Sasha had settled into his trailer and his life, reminding him achingly of his younger sisters. He loved the two women before he knew it, before he recognized what was happening. Much the same thing happened with Daryl in the weeks after the man escaped from the Saviors, though the type of affection couldn’t be more different.

So the question was, could Jesus handle the truths he now knew, or was he going to run? Was he going to withdraw like he had so many times before when things started to get too complicated, or too weird, or too emotional?

Only... it wasn’t actually a question anymore. Somehow his heart had given up the fight overnight. He was all in, logic and expedience and caution be damned. Now that he understood Daryl a little better—understood that the other man had never been toying with him, or playing hard to get, or any of the other bullshit motives Jesus had suspected—well, now he just hoped Daryl was ready for some complications, too.

Rick walked in then, hand perched on his gun. For a long moment he stood still, simply watching Jesus watch Daryl.

“Not the best reading material for someone with a fever,” the leader said finally, nodding at the book in Jesus’s lap.

Jesus, with great dignity, ignored him.

A clock ticked somewhere in the quiet room.

“Listen, Paul,” the leader began. God in heaven, he was clearly gearing up for some big speech. “I don’t know what’s going on with you and Alex, or you and-”

Abruptly, Jesus decided he did not have to put up with this shit.

“Do we really need to do this?”

“Think we do, yeah.”

Jesus sighed. “Carol already threatened to start chopping pieces off of me if I don't toe the line. And I get it, I do. But you’re both treating Daryl like a child. If it was anyone but you two he’d be pissed off about it.”

Silence.

“He hasn’t done this before,” Rick said finally. “And there’s things…”

“I saw his back,” Jesus interrupted again, keeping his eyes on Daryl’s to make sure the man was still asleep. He didn’t need to hear this. “I heard what he said about your _partner_.”

More silence. Rick shifted his weight; Jesus kept his eyes stubbornly on Daryl.

“It’s over with the nurse?”

“Nurse?”

“Alex.”

“He was a med student,” Jesus corrected. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s over. It was never serious to begin with. I don’t know what I’ve done to make you think… but Daryl is a good judge of character. If you can’t trust me, trust him.”

“He is. And I do,” Rick agreed easily. Then, “And I still need you to understand that if you hurt him, you’re gonna wish we'd killed you over that truck.”

“Rick. Quit scarin’ away the game,” Daryl muttered suddenly, turning onto his side with his eyes still closed.

Jesus was going to have to intervene if they kept overloading the man with painkillers like this.

Rick grinned broadly, the tension dropping from his demeanor as Daryl opened his bleary eyes.“You hunting, brother?”

“Mhmm,” Daryl replied, burrowing his temple into the pillow and drifting off again.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are looking up.

 

Just two days after Daryl got his checkup, Rick lifted the their little group’s self-imposed quarantine. Alex struck him as competent, if kind of a douchebag, and he’d confidently explained to Rick and Carol that the infection had likely only hit Daryl so hard because the man was a mess: still recovering from abuse and starvation, chronically sleep-deprived and stressed, plus he’d been working in the hot sun while dehydrated.

The rest of them didn’t show any signs of being sick, and it just wasn’t practical to keep holed up for any longer. They were building something, the communities all working together. A group of Alexandrians were at Hilltop helping to plant a variety of crops, and when they returned with seeds everyone was supposed to begin turning their yards into gardens. Two young women from the Kingdom were in Alexandria learning to maintain solar panels from Tobin, and there was talk of having Carol continue her medical training with the Kingdom’s doctor.

And Rick couldn’t lead, locked away in the clinic.

Daryl was still having trouble meeting Rick’s eyes when they spoke. That was fine, Rick had known to expect it and he knew exactly how to react—by _not_ reacting.

They only alluded to their late-night heart-to-heart once, just before Rick broke their quarantine. He put his hand on Daryl’s shoulder, squeezed, and murmured a quiet “You’re gonna let me know if you need to talk about anything, right?” which was vague enough that they could both pretend they weren't, actually, referring to Shane at all.

Gaze nailed to the floor, Daryl nodded once.

—

Of course, as soon as Rick decided he, Carol, and Jesus could leave the clinic, Daryl thought he should be able to go home, too. Carol thought otherwise, though, which meant the man was staying put in that lumpy bed with one of Alexandria’s more-or-less trained medics nearby until she was satisfied.

Once the fever broke, the symptoms became a lot less alarming, but no less miserable. Daryl was coughing and sneezing miserably. His nose dripped constantly, and despite the tissue box Carol pointedly stashed on the bedside table, Daryl mostly just sniffled or wiped his nose on his arm like a child.

It was fun to watch Jesus wince and grimace at the state of Daryl’s sleeves.

Mostly, though, Jesus had been avoiding Rick ever since his awkward shovel talk. (Rick sincerely hoped it was because the scout was intimidated—probably not, though. Jesus obviously didn’t possess much of a sense of self-preservation.)

So it was a surprise when Jesus practically charged onto his porch the day before Daryl was scheduled to leave the clinic.

“You’ve got to talk to him,” Jesus said without any context, hands on his hips.

Cocking an eyebrow, Rick gestured towards the other patio chair.

“You’ve got to,” Jesus repeated as he paced around, ignoring Rick’s invitation to sit. “He won’t even look at me. He won’t talk. He just… grunts. Sniffles. Gnaws on his damn thumb.”

Rick suppressed a grin. “Yeah, he does that. What exactly do you think I can do about it?”

“Whatever you want, probably,” Jesus snapped, still pacing. “He worships you.” He deflated rapidly, collapsing into the chair. “You’re the one who talked to him, that night, about… about Shane. And I’m not trying to pry, I’m really not. But he’s shutting me out, completely shutting me out, and it’s… I don’t… I haven’t done this before either, you know.”

Well that wasn’t true. Rick had heard stories from Maggie about him, the gay Casanova of the apocalypse.

His face must have given away his skepticism because Jesus corrected, “I mean, a relationship. A real one. I haven’t done _that_. And Daryl is… special.” He hesitated on the last word, looking at Rick like he expected to be mocked.

Instead, Rick just shrugged. “Yeah, I’ll talk to him.”

—

“So, you and Jesus?”

“Fuck off, man. Already told ya I’m, uh, that m’gay."

Rick fervently wished that Daryl could say the words without that little pause. Maybe someday.

“Yeah, that’s not the part that has me wondering.”

“Ya really don't like him, huh?” Daryl asked, surprisingly earnest, meeting Rick’s eyes full-on.

“Course I like him,” Rick said steadily, because he _did_ , really. Sort of. Jesus might not be his first choice for a brother-in-law, but that was Daryl’s call. “Now get your head out of your ass and talk to the poor guy.”

Daryl looked up at him guardedly, so Rick added, “Not about anything, uh, anything in particular. You're not obligated to explain, if that's what you're thinking." Daryl looked away, ears burning. "Just… conversation. Get to know each other better. Ask questions.”

Daryl still looked confused, but that was all the First Date 101 Rick was willing to teach. He started talking about gardening instead while Daryl sat puzzling things out.

Shit, he was going to let Michonne handle this stuff with Carl when the time came.

—

When Rick came by the next day to free Daryl from Carol's grasp and help him home, Jesus was already there. They were talking in low voices so Rick slouched in the doorway awkwardly, pretending not to eavesdrop. He couldn’t tell if they’d heard him come in so he didn’t hide, exactly—just hung back as they finished their conversation.

Jesus was threading his hands through Daryl’s greasy hair, and Rick heard him say, “We’re good. Ok? I just think you should rest when you get home, even if you can’t sleep.”

Nodding shyly, Daryl repeated, “We’re good?” in an uncertain tone.

Rick's jaw clenched until he heard Jesus confirm in a teasing tone, “We’re great. We’re fantastic. I’ll come by tomorrow, maybe test you on some knots again.” Then the scout pressed a quick kiss onto Daryl’s forehead and hurried away, smirking at Rick as he passed. Prick.

Daryl looked happy, over the moon in his quiet way, and Rick smiled in spite of himself.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little snippets of a relationship in progress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter... sort of an epilogue? Idk, folks, this fic is weird.

Jesus had never gone this slowly in a relationship before in his _life_.

The kinds of guys he went for when he was young and stupid hadn’t exactly been interested in waiting. His first boyfriend in particular was an older guy and kind of an asshole, so even losing his virginity hadn’t been this drawn out.

He wasn’t pushing, though. Much as he daydreamed at night (and in the shower, and sometimes first thing in the morning) about getting into Daryl’s pants, he let Daryl take the lead when they were together.

And they were together a lot, thanks to overlapping watches and the occasional trading mission. Their skills were well matched, and even though Rick scowled about it and chided them not to distract each other, he was smart enough to know they worked well together.

There were hours when the only thing they had to do was talk, either quietly while pacing the guard towers or laughing and arguing loudly for hours in the car. Mostly they just shot the shit, discussing everything and nothing, but on rare occasions Jesus managed to get his quiet boyfriend to open up a little more.

He found out some things about his father, and some things about his brother. He discovered quickly that he needed to hold his tongue where Merle Dixon was concerned.

He found out that Daryl had been so far in the closet before the apocalypse he’d only ever fucked women before the Turn, and reading between the lines, Jesus realized the other man was trying to tell him that Shane was the only guy he’d ever been with—if you could call rape and coercion 'being with' someone.

He found out that Shane was never gentle, so he knew he had to be. The son of a bitch got off on hitting and scratching.

Jesus found _that_ out the hard way, not in conversation but when he lost control and let his nails run down Daryl’s clothed back while they were kissing in the cab of the truck after stopping to refuel. Daryl didn’t freak out about it, but the revulsion on his face spoke volumes.

The thought made Jesus want to set something on fire, let it burn to the ground. He kept his cool until they got back to Alexandria, then he went and kicked the shit out of his punching bag for three hours.

—

It wasn't all talking, though Jesus loved that part--a growing intimacy he'd never really had before.

They also made out like teenagers. The sexual tension had him at half-mast almost constantly.

As for Daryl, for a solid two weeks he blushed like mad anytime his own erection rubbed against any part of Jesus’s body; it was simultaneously the most arousing and the most ridiculous thing the scout had ever experienced.

Eventually, though, Daryl stopped blushing, and the week after that he began doing it on purpose.

It was exquisite torture. Jesus loved every minute of it.

—

“Let’s just get it over with,” Daryl said, one month into their relationship.

They’d just stopped a heavy petting session, probably moments before Daryl was about to come. Daryl had been the one to hit the brakes, but laying on Jesus’s bed with a stubborn hard-on, apparently he was reconsidering.

“Well, with romance like that, how can I say no?” Jesus replied, not looking up from his book. Part of him wanted to say yes, of course, but it meant something that Daryl had stopped.

“C’mon, Paul. I’m serious.”

Glancing over at Daryl’s conflicted face, Jesus smiled. “We get there when we get there. It’s not a race. Taking it slow is working for us. Now do you want me to read aloud or not?” They’d been working through the Harry Potter series, but Daryl’s attention for the story waxed and waned unpredictably.

Daryl growled and slammed his head back into the pillow. “Bet ya didn’t wait this long to fuck any of your other boyfriends.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t like any of them nearly as much as I like you.” Watching out of the corner of his eye, Jesus smirked when he saw Daryl bury his face in his hands. He’d discovered quickly that compliments embarrassed Daryl even more than innuendo. He added, just to torture the man, “You’re much cuter.”

“Man, I get that we’re- that we’re gay, but do ya haveta be _that_ gay?”

“Yep,” Jesus said, turning the page in the book nonchalantly. If Daryl didn’t want him to read aloud, he could catch up in his own time.

—

Just a week later, Jesus was the one struggling to keep his cool.

Daryl was into it too, and things kept getting hotter. A nip on his neck, sharp teeth digging in for a fraction of a second. Hands roaming his chest, then his upper arms.

The biggest problem, though, was that Daryl was straddling him in only a pair of plaid boxers. Jesus had walked to Rick's house early to invite Daryl over for pancakes, and his boyfriend had just been laying there in bed, mostly undressed, derailing Jesus’s whole morning.

The difference between feeling him up in a pair of heavy jeans and a thin layer of cotton was just about killing Jesus. He could run his hands from Daryl's waist to the bare skin of his thighs, feeling every centimeter of the curve of his ass under his palms, and Daryl was wild for it.

They were used to pressing together through so many layers, and now Jesus could feel the precise outline of Daryl's cock against his own. When the man’s crotch slipped higher for a moment and grazed against Jesus's stomach, he felt the damp smear of precome on the fabric and just about lost his mind, turning them over in the bed quickly so he could control the pace.

Daryl just laid back on the pillow, gazing up at him like he was some kind of actual messiah; Jesus dove down to capture his lips firmly, moaning under his breath.

He would stop if Daryl wanted--he _would_ \--but oh god oh god he hoped he wouldn't have to. And it was looking unlikely, that he’d have to. Daryl clutched his hips and groaned, holding him still, pushing their dicks together in a tight circle.

Jesus had time to think _finally finally finally_ before the door to the room opened with an obnoxious creak.

Daryl startled badly, hands shoving at Jesus like he wanted to toss him clear out the window to hide what they were doing. Which was ridiculous—it would be obvious to a blind man what they’d been up to, and Rick Cockblocking Grimes wasn’t blind.

Rick kept his eyes on the door as Jesus scrambled to get a blanket around himself and Daryl. He pretended to be sorry, the asshole. “Oh shit, shoulda knocked. Um. Sorry, but uh, Daryl, they need you out by the gate. Truck isn't starting and Rosita and Aaron are due at Hilltop today.”

“On it,” Daryl grunted, causing Jesus to jerk his head over in disbelief. But sure enough Daryl wiggled his way out from under him and reached for his pants, then his boots. He was bright red and moving stiffly when he all but sprinted from the room, yanking his shirt on as he passed his brother in the hallway.

Alone on the bed, Jesus glared darkly at Rick as he slowly pulled on his shirt, trying to convince his incredulous erection of what had just happened.

For his part Rick just looked fucking amused. "Want some coffee? Pot’s brewing downstairs.”

Jesus weighed his options. He really hated Rick at that moment, but he really loved coffee.

"Fine," he said finally, still scowling, and hoisted himself off the bed to follow the other man downstairs, leaving the bed in disarray.

They sat completely silent for the first few minutes, both enjoying their mugs of slightly stale Folgers.

“So I guess things are coming along well with you two?” Rick asked, eyes twinkling.

That had to be intentional.

Well fine, if Rick wanted to talk about it. "Things were _almost_ ‘coming along,’ for the very first time, actually, before you interrupted for a damn truck you probably could have fixed yourself," Jesus said acidly.

Rick's lips twitched. “Well, it’s good your taking it slow.”

“So glad you approve of my blue balls.”

“You'll live.”

“Yeah, yeah. Learn to knock.” Jesus put his mug in the sink, annoyance starting to fade now that he’d had caffeine. "Excuse me, I'm going to see if I can help out with the truck so I can get my hands—and my everything else—back on your brother.”

"God, you're awful. Why does he like you?" Rick honestly sounded mystified.

It made Jesus pause at the door. "You know I’m not pushing him, right? He’s on board with everything we do.”

“Trust me, I know. That's why you still _have_ hands—and ‘everything else’—to put on him. Now get the fuck out of my house.”

He almost sounded friendly, now, but Jesus left quickly anyway.

—

That night Jesus asked Daryl over to his house, after making Eugene understand in no uncertain terms that he had to find another place to sleep that night. Eugene had droned on for a few minutes about not being bothered by amorous activity in his vicinity, but Jesus's death glare had been enough to shut him up and get him out the door pretty damn quickly.

Jesus tried and failed not to get his hopes up. He would never pressure Daryl, but shit, he was only human, and that morning had been really damn hot.

They had a nice dinner, some fish from Oceanside and fresh veggies, with one glass of wine each. Jesus put the bottle away after pouring even as Daryl frowned reproachfully at him.

He was probably being obvious. Damn it.

They went to Jesus’s room after washing up as if it had been agreed upon beforehand, but Jesus was quick to put some shitty action flick Daryl liked on an ancient laptop before joining him on the bed.

Not pushing. Just dinner and a movie with his _unbelievably_ sexy boyfriend, who had apparently showered and put on a nice-ish blue button down for their date. It gaped a little between the buttons where his shoulders and chest stretched the fabric.

Jesus snapped his eyes back to Vin Diesel.

Finally, thank _God_ , Daryl reached for him midway through the movie.

They started making out, spreading out slowly on the bed until Daryl was crushing Jesus into the mattress. The grinding had started as usual when Daryl suddenly paused the movie, then took the moment to strip off both of their shirts.

It was pretty clear that like that morning, he had no intention of stopping. He was trembling but only looked lustful  as he slowly unbuttoned and upzipped Jesus’s jeans.

Jesus felt like he ought to be shaking as well, burning off all this spare… what? Spare desire, certainly, and some giddiness at seeing Daryl so wound up over him.

Daryl nuzzled at his erection, and Christ, if he did keep going like that, this was not going to last long.

“You sure about this?” Jesus asked, couldn’t not ask.

His boyfriend nodded with his face still pressed against his dick, and Jesus had to bite back a groan. Then he remembered Eugene wasn’t around and didn’t bother holding back as Daryl pulled out his cock and stroked, then _licked_.

Jesus thought he might have a heart attack. “You are fucking gorgeous,” he gasped, unable to help himself even though he knew Daryl would get embarrassed about it. Sure enough, the tips of his ears went red even as he continued moving his tongue around messily. It was unskilled, naive, and incredibly effective. “You are. God. Everything about you.”

“Stop it,” Daryl murmured, glancing up at him through his overgrown bangs before continuing. There wasn’t any real discomfort on his face, though.

“Never.” Daryl chose that moment to suck the tip of his dick into his mouth, just exploring, and Jesus clenched his fingers into his sheets, determined to keep his hands completely to himself this first time at least. He’d noticed in a month of making out that Daryl was less shy about touching him than he was about being touched himself. “Fucking fuck, Daryl, shit, fuck, fuck, oh god _please._ ”

Daryl mostly used his hands after that. It didn’t make a difference. The stream of curses and pleas pouring from Jesus’s mouth continued, then got faster and less coherent. Watching was the real turn on: Daryl’s curious expression, his tongue as it darted out again and again to wet his lips, the way he kept having to adjust his own dick in his boxers. The complete lack of fear in his eyes whenever Jesus checked for it.

Jesus saw stars—fuck, he saw galaxies—when he came across his bare stomach a few minutes later.

He didn’t let himself enjoy the afterglow for more than a few seconds “That was fantastic. Just… holy shit, Daryl. Are you ok? How do you want to…”

“What do ya want?” Daryl asked, eyes huge. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple. His cock was tenting his underwear in an uncomfortable-looking way.

What Jesus _wanted_ was that dick down his throat.

“I could return the favor, use my hand on you.” But Daryl hesitated, looking awkwardly around the room. “Or you could touch yourself, bring yourself off.”

Without saying anything, Daryl slowly reached down, palming himself through his boxers. Jesus hadn’t seen him naked yet, and he realized he wasn’t going to tonight, either.

It didn’t matter. What mattered was that Daryl was enjoying this, his face a mess of lust and desperation.

“God that’s hot,” Jesus said, staring unabashedly and hoping Daryl didn’t mind him enjoying the show. “Fuck.” Daryl’s eyes were glued to his chest and stomach, striped with white. Then they closed tightly, and half a second later he came, completely silent, into his boxers. He collapsed forward a moment later, breathing hard.

Thinking he might need a moment, Jesus wiped himself off with his shirt and stood to get a towel from the bathroom. He stayed there a moment, wetting the towel with some warm water and running a hand through his wrecked hair.

Daryl was on his back with his eyes closed when he reentered the bedroom. Tossing the damp towel onto the other man’s bare chest, Jesus said, “You’re gonna want to clean up a bit.”

Grumbling, Daryl pushed himself off the bed and moved to the bathroom. Jesus lazily checked out the other man’s ass he walked away before flopping down and snuggling into the sheets.

He was sound asleep before Daryl came back, and didn’t wake up when Daryl hesitantly laid down beside him for the night.

—

"Daryl," Jesus whispered the next morning. He had a blue sharpie poised above his boyfriend’s stomach and had already drawn a large heart with angel wings. He'd been awake for almost an hour and much as he wanted to stay and cuddle, he was also bored out of his skull.

Daryl just grunted and turned his face sharply, like he was trying to get away from the noise.

"Wake up," Jesus whispered, closer into his ear. Then he began to draw a little crossbow that looked more like a bow and arrow somewhere around the bottom of Daryl’s ribcage.

Daryl reached up and waved him away vaguely, hand pawing at the marker. Jesus yanked the marker away, barely avoiding ruining the crossbow. He finished the drawing, then said more loudly, “Daryl, you wanted to go hunting today, right? Come on. It's dawn now."

Narrow eyes blinked open, squinting up at him. In the soft light, their color looked darker than usual. “Still here," Daryl observed in a hoarse voice.

"Yeah, sorry I crashed so quickly after. You could have kicked me out if you wanted.”

"Mm. It's your fuckin' house, man." Daryl looked down at the dark blue angel heart on his stomach and sighed dramatically. “Gay.”

“Yes, we are,” Jesus agreed, trying to move in to draw something else. Daryl grunted and reached around his shoulders, manhandling him until he was on his side and tucked into the curve of the larger man's body.

Jesus hid his grin in the pillow, even though he knew Daryl wouldn’t be able to see it anyway. The sharpie smudged the sheets a little before he managed to cap it but he didn’t care in the slightest.

"Ain't slept that good in... shit, ever."

"Sex can do that. Good sex, especially."

"Wish I hadn't taken so long to come around to it," Daryl murmured. "Wasn't at all like, uh. Like with Shane."

Heart speeding up, Jesus nodded carefully. “Good."

"Yeah." Daryl's arms wrapped around him tighter. "Ain't going hunting today. Fuck that. I'm keepin’ ya here, at least until we’ve got watch at noon.”

Jesus blinked. Daryl never took time off for himself. It sounded like heaven, except... "Daryl, we don't have to- just because we did it once, I don't expect-"

"I know." Daryl sighed. "Man, I ain't made of glass. Is it that hard to believe that after last night that I- y'know, that I would want… shit, Paul, I just told ya I liked it."

"Ok," Jesus said, backing off instantly. "I was just... reiterating. Thought maybe it bore repeating, especially after last night. You’re running the show.”

Daryl grunted noncommittally. “Fine. If I'm runnin’ the show, quit usin' me as a colorin' book and go the fuck back to sleep."

"Why, am I going to need my energy later?"

"Pervert," Daryl said, word distorted by a huge yawn. “And yeah, maybe.”

Jesus chuckled and settled in. They fell back asleep quickly.

Later, they barely made it out of the house in time for their shifts on the wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, the end of this strange little plotless thing featuring ooc!Jesus and Rick, which I nevertheless really enjoyed writing :-P
> 
> I feel the need to clarify, Daryl is not suddenly all better thanks to Paul's incredible dick and Paul is not intended to serve as some perfect model of a partner here. Daryl had done some healing before ever meeting Paul, and Paul is adjusting to being in a serious relationship that doesn't revolve around fun and sex, possibly for the first time. Obviously they'd have a long way to go (and more talking to do) before Daryl could really heal completely. Maybe someday I'll try to write that fic. Also, my head canon is that Daryl throughout this chapter is also slowly opening up to Rick in fits and starts, but since I don't think Jesus would know about that, I didn't write it in.
> 
> Oh, PS, Sasquaatch68 requested Jesus drawing on Daryl's tummy and I'd been looking for a sweet way to end this fic, so I put it in <3 Thanks for the inspiration!

**Author's Note:**

> All nonconsensual activities take place in the past. Some may be described in an upsetting/triggering way.
> 
> I got a tumblr (https://canoncannon.tumblr.com) so I can keep up with the rest of the fandom a bit more... no clue what the hell I'm doing, but hey, follow me!


End file.
